Monthly Archives: August 2014

I never thought I would be writing about a trip to the convenient store, but this trip was like no other. It seemed like a typical November day, two years ago, as I walked out of Walgreens. It was just a month after my grandmother had passed away and I spent my days running useless errands hoping to fill the void in my heart and distract me from the pain.

As I attempted to walk out of the store, I was frustrated by everything that was going on around me which was a very common feeling during this time. I was angry because I couldn’t even remember what I went there to buy so I ended up spending over $20 on nonsense just to waste time and money, both of which I didn’t have.

I was mad and confused at everyone. Especially, the young girl walking through the store holding her grandmother’s hand. The little girl was begging her grandmother for ice cream just like I use to when I was little, before I was old enough to know that there are bigger problems than a lack of sugar. There is heartache and pain in this world. Before I was old enough to understand that one day my grandmother wouldn’t be here with me. “Here is $20 my sweetie,” the woman said, “Keep it for later and well get you some Mr. Softy.”(Ice Cream Truck)

As I carried on, I remembered all of the times my cousins and I would play outside of my grandma’s house, waiting patiently to hear the sounds of the Mr. Softy truck. The minute we heard it, no matter how far it may have been, we would run inside smothering my grandma with hugs and kisses while begging for some money. No matter how many times she would say, “Remember kids, no ice cream today,” everyday we would ask and every time she would always end up giving each of us exactly $20. Obviously, we all know that ice cream doesn’t cost this much, but that was my grandma, always giving more than she ever had to give.

Who knew that I, an 18 year old, could be jealous of a three-year-old little girl wearing pink slippers and a Dora the Explorer backpack, but I was, because at the end of the day she had something I didn’t have anymore. A grandmother by her side.

I had to force myself to ignore the little girl who others kept calling “cute” and “adorable” when I simply thought she was nothing but obnoxious. She was just too happy for me and that was unacceptable, at this time, in my world.

I continued to the register to pay for my things, none of which I even remembered picking until I placed them on the counter. It was than that my anger quickly shifted from the little girl who seemed to have everything to the cashier who didn’t have anything, not even my change. She had to bring my things to another register which just felt like a waste of time. Everything felt like a waste of my time. When the cashier gave me my change I didn’t say thank you. I didn’t say have a good day. I simply took my change and left.

Feeling exhausted and hopeless, I began walking to my car. Every step seemed draining, and every step was another to survive. As I looked up into the sky I thought about how my grandmother had left me, and my anger began to return. I was outraged by the loss, and my belief in God was beginning to diminish. I couldn’t understand why these things happened. So as I stood in a public parking lot a million questions formed in my mind. Why did this happen to me? Aren’t we supposed to get signs from the people that pass on? Why did I not feel her presence anymore? Is there a heaven?

Suddenly, a woman driving right by my side rolled down her window and distracted my unanswered thoughts. “Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me,” she said loudly. Thinking she was going to ask for my parking spot, I simply pointed to my car. The thought of having to verbalize where my car was seemed like too much to bear. “No, excuse me,” she said again. At this point, I felt I had no choice but to see what this annoying lady wanted. As I got closer though I was startled-was this my grandmother’s nurse, Adu, who lived with her during her final months? I soon realized that she wasn’t, although the resemblance was uncanny. Then, I realized that this Adu look a like was searching for something in her bag. Surprisingly, I was overcome by a sense a relief that lead me to be patient the entire time the lady was searching. Others would be nervous by a stranger reaching in their bag unanimously, but I wasn’t. Under a clutter of makeup, money, pens, and other belongings, she finally reached to the very bottom of her bag and handed me a three page booklet. “It looks like you need this,” she said calmly with a warm smile on her face.

I looked down at the mysterious and obviously used pamphlet and on the front cover in big bold letters read “What Hope for Dead Loved Ones?”

It took me only a few seconds to comprehend the exchange with this woman, but by the time I looked up, she was gone.

I walked slowly into my car gripping the tiny little book that was given to me with fear that it would fly away in the wind. I didn’t know what it was exactly, but I knew that if my grandmother had anything to do with this that I didn’t want to let it go.

I felt a sense of relaxation as I opened the first page. It explained how people pass on, but their spirit remains with us. This was the first time since my grandma had passed that I felt her with me, just like I had wanted. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but I did know that I finally felt happiness from the surprising change in events.

God was real and He felt my need and sent someone my way. I couldn’t, and still can’t, believe what had happened to me on that day. I don’t remember the specific details that you usually hear about like what the person was wearing, the time of day, or even the weather, but it doesn’t matter. It was a random day in November when my life turned back around and I began to feel hope again. It was real. It was a miracle. And, I’ll remember it for the rest of my life.

Col 2:2 “That their hearts might be comforted, being knit together in love, and unto all riches of the full assurance of understanding, to the acknowledgement of the mystery of God, and of the Father, and of Christ;…”

A father was reading a magazine and his little daughter every now and then distracted him.

Trying to keep her busy, he tore out one page on which was printed the map of the world. He then tore the page into pieces and asked her to go to her room and put them together to make the map again.

He was sure she would take the whole day to get it done. But the little one came back within minutes with the perfect map…

When he asked how she could do it so quickly, she said, “Oh… Dad, there is a man’s face on the other side of the paper… I made the face perfect to get the map right.” She ran outside to play leaving the father surprised.

Moral of the story:

There is always the other side to whatever you experience in this world. This story indirectly teaches a lesson. i.e. whenever we come across a challenge or a puzzling situation, look at the other side… You will be surprised to see an easy way to tackle the problem.

A touching poem about an innocent girl who was killed in an accident caused by a drunk driver. Please don’t drink and drive.

“I went to a party, Mom, I remembered what you said.
You told me not to drink, Mom, so I drank soda instead.
I really felt proud inside, Mom, the way you said I would.
I didn’t drink and drive, Mom, even though the others said I should.
I know I did the right thing, Mom, I know you were always right.
Now the party is finally ending, Mom, as everyone is driving out of sight.

As I got into my car, Mom, I knew I’d get home in one piece.
Because of the way you raised me, so responsible and sweet.
I started to drive away, Mom, but as I pulled out into the road
the other car didn’t see me, Mom, and hit me like a load.

As I lay there on the pavement, Mom, I hear the policeman say,
the other guy is drunk, Mom, and now I’m the one who will pay.
I’m lying here dying, Mom. I wish you’d get here soon.
How could this happen to me, Mom? My life just burst like a balloon.
There is blood all around me, Mom, and most of it is mine.
I hear the medic say, Mom, I’ll die in a short time.

I just wanted to tell you, Mom, I swear I didn’t drink.
It was the others, Mom. The others didn’t think.
He was probably at the same party as I.
The only difference is he drank and I will die.

Why do people drink, Mom? It can ruin your whole life.
I’m feeling sharp pains now. Pains just like a knife.
The guy who hit me is walking, Mom, and I don’t think it’s fair.
I’m lying here dying and all he can do is stare.

Tell my brother not to cry, Mom. Tell Daddy to be brave.
And when I go to heaven, Mom, put “Daddy’s Girl” on my grave.
Someone should have told him, Mom, not to drink and drive.
If only they had told him, Mom, I would still be alive.

My breath is getting shorter, Mom. I’m becoming very scared.
Please don’t cry for me, Mom. When I needed you, you were always there.
I have one last question, Mom, before I say good bye.
I didn’t drink and drive, so why am I the one to die?

This is the end, mom, I wish I could look you in the eye,
To say these final words, mom, I love you and goodbye.

One more example of how what you believe and what you desire comes to pass!Prov 23:7 “For as he thinketh in his heart, so is he:…”James 2:17 “Even so faith, if it hath not works, is dead, being alone.”

The following story is true and this man exhibits both faith, determination and put works with his faith and overcame the odds and false predictions spoke over him. We should bear this story in mind the next time you are put into a place around unbelieving people, and negative places in the world. Never accept “No” as a final answer.

A true story about athlete Glenn Cunningham who was horribly burned in a schoolhouse fire at the age of 8. Doctors predicted he would never walk again. Determined to walk, Glenn would throw himself off his wheelchair and pull his body across the yard and along a fence. Twenty-two months later, he took his first steps and through sheer determination, learned to run despite the pain…

The little country schoolhouse was heated by an old-fashioned, pot-bellied coal stove. A little boy had the job of coming to school early each day to start the fire and warm the room before his teacher and his classmates arrived.

One morning they arrived to find the schoolhouse engulfed in flames. They dragged the unconscious little boy out of the flaming building more dead than alive. He had major burns over the lower half of his body and was taken to a nearby county hospital.

From his bed the dreadfully burned, semi-conscious little boy faintly heard the doctor talking to his mother. The doctor told his mother that her son would surely die – which was for the best, really – for the terrible fire had devastated the lower half of his body.

But the brave boy didn’t want to die. He made up his mind that he would survive. Somehow, to the amazement of the physician, he did survive. When the mortal danger was past, he again heard the doctor and his mother speaking quietly. The mother was told that since the fire had destroyed so much flesh in the lower part of his body, it would almost be better if he had died, since he was doomed to be a lifetime cripple with no use at all of his lower limbs.

Once more the brave boy made up his mind. He would not be a cripple. He would walk. But unfortunately from the waist down, he had no motor ability. His thin legs just dangled there, all but lifeless.

Ultimately he was released from the hospital. Every day his mother would massage his little legs, but there was no feeling, no control, nothing. Yet his determination that he would walk was as strong as ever.

When he wasn’t in bed, he was confined to a wheelchair. One sunny day his mother wheeled him out into the yard to get some fresh air. This day, instead of sitting there, he threw himself from the chair. He pulled himself across the grass, dragging his legs behind him.

He worked his way to the white picket fence bordering their lot. With great effort, he raised himself up on the fence. Then, stake by stake, he began dragging himself along the fence, resolved that he would walk. He started to do this every day until he wore a smooth path all around the yard beside the fence. There was nothing he wanted more than to develop life in those legs.

Ultimately through his daily massages, his iron persistence and his resolute determination, he did develop the ability to stand up, then to walk haltingly, then to walk by himself – and then – to run.

He began to walk to school, then to run to school, to run for the sheer joy of running. Later in college he made the track team.

Still later in Madison Square Garden this young man who was not expected to survive, who would surely never walk, who could never hope to run – this determined young man, Dr. Glenn Cunningham, ran the world’s fastest mile**!

**On June 16, 1934, Glenn Cunningham ran the mile in 4:06.8 minutes, breaking the world’s record. His effort portrays that whatever you want to create in your life is yours for the making. As long as you desire it enough and allow God to encourage you to live, and keep moving forward with Him. You cannot fail. The only one that can put limits on your personal lives is you. God has no limits, and most assuredly He always want you to excel giving Him the glory!

Life Summary:

-8 years old, was horribly burned in a schoolhouse fire. Doctors predicted he would never walk again.
-22 months later, took his first steps and through sheer determination, learned to run despite the pain.
-In high school, set records for the mile and later attended Kansas University.
-While at Kansas, refused all scholarship money, preferring to pay his own way.
-By sophomore year, ran the 1,500 meter race at the 1932 Olympics, but finished fourth due to a severe cold.
-By senior year, set a world record for the mile of 4:06.8 and held seven of the top 13 fastest recorded times for the mile.
-In 1936, voted “Most Popular Athlete” by his fellow athletes.
-He went on to earn a master’s degree from University of Iowa and later a doctorate from New York University.
-While in New York, won 21 of 31 races at Madison Square Gardens and set an indoor mile record there in 1938. His fastest mile time was 4:04.4 at a Dartmouth track meet in 1938.
-When the 1940 Olympics were cancelled, he retired from his running career and taught at Cornell College in Iowa.
-During World War II, he served two years in the Navy.
-Spent the remainder of his life running the Glenn Cunningham Youth Ranch for troubled kids in Kansas, USA. It is estimated that he and his wife raised around 9,000 kids on their ranch.

Found this story both long, sad and inspiring. If you have time, maybe it will inspire you. “…ofthestory.”

“Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!” My father yelled at me. “Can’t you do anything right?”

Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn’t prepared for another battle.

“I saw the car, Dad. Please don’t yell at me when I’m driving.”

My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.

Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him?

Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often.

The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his powers.

The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn’t lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn’t do something he had done as a younger man.

Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing.

At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived… But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone He obstinately refused to follow doctor’s orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.

My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust.

Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue..

Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad’s troubled mind.

But the months wore on and it seemed God was silent. Something had to be done and I felt it was up to me to do something.

The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered in vain.

Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, “I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article.”

I listened as she read.. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.

I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world’s aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed..

Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention.. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.

I pointed to the dog “Can you tell me about him?”

The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement. “He’s a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we’ve heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow..” He gestured helplessly.

As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. “You mean you’re going to kill him?”

“Ma’am,” he said gently, “that’s our policy. We don’t have room for every unclaimed dog.”

I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. “I’ll take him,” I said..

I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch. “Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!” I said excitedly.

Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. “If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don’t want it” Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house.

At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate.

We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.

Dad’s lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal.

It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne. Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet.

Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad’s bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne’s cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father’s room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.

Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad’s bed.. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad’s peace of mind.

The morning of Dad’s funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life. And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. “Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”

“I’ve often thanked God for that dog; for the change I needed in my life…he said; For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article….”

Cheyenne ‘s unexpected appearance at the animal shelter. .. ..his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father. . and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all. Keep faith in God!

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The Question

"What I'm asking is this: Are we a happier human race? Is the world fundamentally a better place because of science and technology?
We shop at home, we surf the web.. but at the same time we feel emptier, lonelier, and more cut off from each other than at any other time in human history. We're becoming a synthesized society; in a great big hurry to get the next new cell phone or to achieve an adventurous cheap thrill. Glory seekers!
I think we’re looking for the meaning. Where is the meaning? We have mindless jobs, we take frantic vacations, deficit finance trips to the mall to buy more things that we think are going to fill these holes in our lives. Is it any wonder that we've lost our sense of direction?”
I think that many of our modern conveniences have given way to an immediate gratification attitude. It seems to me that too many of us have forgotten that it is the little things in life that bring the deepest joy. Things like a new car, a faster computer, and all the money one needs would seem to make us happy.
It seems to me that cradling of the face by a loved one in support, watching children playing with a big box and seeing the boat or the castle it is, or the satisfaction of a job well done, those things bring true joy. Why does it seem that the people who appear to have nothing smile more than people you meet in the street of a city? I think many of us have lost our way."